


Four Times the Doctor Reacted Poorly to a Hybrid (And One Time He Didn't)

by Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Crack, F/M, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-11 12:21:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 1,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5626498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw/pseuds/Turn_of_the_Sonic_Screw
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pretty much what it says on the tin. The Doctor encounters various hybrids, is paranoid at them, adorable at Clara.</p><p>Also each chapter will be a romantic first for Clara and the Doctor because why have one trope when you can have two?</p><p>Rated M for later sexy-times.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Date

Well, first traditional, Earth, dinner date. Clara hadn't exactly been keeping track of when their adventures turned romantic for both of them at the same time. But she'd finally snagged a cheap pair of tickets to the theatre and she and the Doctor were going to go together, come hell or high water. He'd agreed to meet her at her gran's house, she could introduce her 'new boyfriend' to Gran, and then they'd go from there. 

“Come on,” she says, “We'll borrow Gran's car.” She jingles the keys at him.

His face sours. “I thought we'd take the TARDIS.”

“And I thought we should take a method of transportation that doesn't run a fifty-fifty chance of dropping us off at the wrong time and space. Which is great when I'm in the mood for adventure; not so great when I'm in the mood for Ibsen and takeout.” She rests her hand on the roof of the Prius. “Come on,” she wheedles; “what's the big deal?”

“Clara,” he whispers anxiously, then points surreptitiously to the word 'hybrid' on the back of the car.

She rolls her eyes because they are not having this conversation thirty minutes before the curtain goes up. “Fine! We'll take my motorbike.” She tucks her hair into her helmet. “Hold on tight. And don't worry, I know it's not the sonic screwdriver.” She winks at him. “I don't mind.”

He has no idea what to make of that but he does what the boss says and slings a leg over her motorbike.


	2. First "I Love You"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place after the play mentioned in chapter 1

It's later that same night; they've stopped back to pick up the TARDIS, taken it on a brief detour to the planet Verweaz where there may or may not have been some cantankerous Ice Warriors causing havoc, then back to her flat, then just around the corner for pad thai. Clara is just about to thank her lucky stars for a successful evening when the Doctor stops with his third bite midway to his mouth.

“Clara,” he asks. “What is this?”

She looks at him quizzically (from across the table because physical intimacy is still not his strong suit). “It's pad thai. You love pad thai. You took me specifically to eat the very first pad thai.”

He lets the noodles fall from his utensil. “No, what's this.” 

“It's a...” She pinches the bridge of her nose because she can see where this is going. “...plastic spork. Yes, it's—”

He finishes her sentence (which is an oddly nice feeling) “ _\--a hybrid!_ ” He sets it down and glares suspiciously at it.

“Seriously?” She stares openmouthed at him. “It's an inanimate object! It's made of plastic!”

“So are Autons,” he counters. 

He looks smugly at her and she flounders for a comeback. Flounders unsuccessfully, because, seriously, what can you say to a guy who can cite killer plastic daffodils on his side of the argument? “Fine,” she says at last, “I'm letting you win, but only because I love you.” She takes his spork, throws it away, and gets him a fork and a spoon from her drawer, then sets them down, one on each side of his plate so that there's no chance that he'll worry about them teaming up or, god forbid, breeding.

“You know,” he says, having consulted his prodigious memory while she was banishing the hybrid to the depths of her kitchen trashcan, “I think that's the first time you've said that to me.”

“I'm letting you win?” 

“That you love me,” he corrects her. (There was that one time, right after the Orient Express, she recalls, but she doesn't bring it up because of who else she was talking to. But he's right, she realizes, they don't say it—it almost seems unnecessary, given all they do for each other.) He smiles fondly at her. “I love you, too,” and somehow she can't help but blush.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The reference to Clara saying "I love you" at the end of Mummy in the Orient Express is based on a gifset of Jenna Coleman talking about the scene (which I thought I had bookmarked and now cannot find for the life of me) in which she is asked whether she is talking to the Doctor or to Danny, and she clarifies that it's to the Doctor. So yeah, in case you thought that episode couldn't get any shippier, YOU WERE WRONG.


	3. First Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clara and the Doctor have to pretend to be married on a planet at the height of political paranoia. But it's when nobody is watching that the sparks fly.

Clara laughs at the ambassador's joke. “More sherry, Mrs. Oswald?”

“If you don't mind, Ambassador Torellen.” She thanks the older woman, who leads them towards her greenhouse. She offers her arm to the Doctor, as befits their cover story as husband-and-wife minor celebrities of some variety. She isn't exactly sure, other than that it's something non-political, which is good, because the planet is currently embroiled in its equivalent of Earth's Cold War. But somehow, there is time amidst all the turmoil and tension for lilies.

She is snapped out of her reverie when the Doctor, evidently after no little hesitation, accepts her elbow with his own, and, in fact, presses affectionately against her. Don't read anything into it, she tells herself. He's probably just putting on a good front for the sake of their cover story. But he keeps up the pretense very well during the entire tour of the greenhouse without doing any exaggerated over-acting, the way he usually does when trying to blend in with humans.

“What are these?” she asks.

“Oh, I bred these myself,” Torellen explains. She cuts a few and places them into a vase, then hands the vase to the Doctor to smell. “I had to combine two different strains, to combine the large blooms with the more fragrant--” She is cut off by the crash of the vase on the ground.

“There was a bug,” he offers.

“Oh, yes, should have mentioned,” Clara picks up the slack. “Dreadfully arachnophobic. Terribly sorry; we'll clean everything up, _won't we?_ ” She tugs him into a kneeling position. 

Hybrid, he mouths, and starts picking up shards of the vase.

Plant, she mouths back, discarding the damaged flowers.

Vervoids, he reminds her, and her eyes roll. She looks back to him just in time to see him wince. Blood wells up on his fingertip. “You idiot; my idiot.” She kisses his fingertip. Their eyes meet and then she kisses him. Really glad the psychic paper didn't say we were father and daughter, she thinks as the kiss deepens. Really, really glad. 

“By the way,” he asks once she finally comes up for air, “why did you say that?”

“Say what?”

“That I have arachnophobia. You know some of my best friends are spiders.”

“You said you saw a bug.” She shakes her head with confusion. “I was helping explain why you dropped the vase.”

“I meant an electronic monitoring device,” the Doctor explains. “She's an ambassador and this planet is at the height of international tension.” He sits back. “I thought it was obvious.”

“We're in a greenhouse,” she says, leaning forward insistently on one hand with a crunch. “What the hell?..” she asks, holding up a handful of metallic shards. “Oh, you must be kidding me,” she snorts, brushing the fragments away. 

The Doctor laughs, and takes her hand. “Your palm's bleeding,” he points out with a husky whisper, and this time it is his lips, pressed cool against her skin.


	4. First Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At long last, the chapter that earned the mature rating. Still a bit fade to black, but enjoy.

“So,” she says, shutting the oven door. “Brownies in half an hour.” She grins flirtatiously at the Doctor, who has been helping her bake, including putting away the ingredients as she finished with them. Which is good, because she has more important things to think about at the moment than making sure her eggs don't go off. She washes her hands, and hops up to sit on the island in the center of her tiny kitchen, which brings her almost to a level with the Doctor.

“Did you have something in mind?” he asks, a little oblivious, a little uneasy. But he very happily lets her pull him down the last few inches into a kiss. It's been a couple of months since their first, and he thinks he's gotten it figured out. Enjoys it, in fact. Enjoys the feel of her through her thin jumper as she presses against him. He's down to his t-shirt at her insistence because of the flour flying around, and he can feel her still-damp fingers through the thin, white material; she lets him keep it on, sensing that he's uncomfortable, still, down so many layers of armor. His own hands are damp, but that's because his palms are starting to sweat. He's stared down a hundred Daleks without flinching; why is he scared now?

“You don't have to do anything you don't want to,” she whispers into his ear, and she waits for him to make the next move, only pressing a reassuring kiss to his ear. That makes all the difference to him, and it's not like he's never done this before. Cautiously, he slides his hands up under her jumper, finds the clasp on her bra. “Mm...” She suckles on his neck appreciatively, and the old confidence returns. Yeah, he thinks, I've shown Cleopatra a thing or two, and Clara gasps with delight as he hikes bra and jumper alike over her head. She unzips her skirt and kicks it away, clinging to him as they kiss.

“Clara,” his lips go dry, “I want you,” he murmurs into the valley between her breasts. She nods her acceptance; he can smell her arousal even over the scent of the baking brownies. He threads his way down the rest of her body, and takes the waistband of her knickers in his mouth the way he had done once for Marilyn Monroe. “Clara?” he asks, because there is something about the taste...

Her breath stops, because he is asking a question in the tone of voice which indicates that it will not be a sexy sort of question. “Yes?” 

“What are your knickers made of?”

The underthings at issue are snug, lavender, and haven't run up her ass in a year of chasing the Doctor down hallway after hallway. “Doctor?”

“Never mind,” he says, tugging them off her abruptly. “I'll check myself.” His eyes widen. “Poly-cotton blend. _Hybrid._ ”

“Don't. You. Dare,” she demands, seizing his wrist before he can fling them into her garbage disposal. “The only way these are standing in the ruin of a billion hearts are if I'm wearing them at the moment. Or, perhaps, if you are.” _Down, girl,_ she thinks. “They're cute, fit perfectly, and are just filmy enough to show off when I've shaved. All of which you would have noticed if you hadn't gotten distracted by the fabric blend.”

“They did look very nice on you,” he says quietly. He tucks the garment into his pocket. For future study, he tells himself. Her face brightens a little, which makes him go weak in the knees. “You look very nice,” he guesses, and is rewarded with a grin peeking through her frustration. Everything about him just melts.

Well, almost everything, he thinks with a cheeky smile, and he unzips his fly. “Please,” she begs, and he is happy to comply.


	5. First Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And now, just some pure, unadulterated fluff.

A year later, more or less, and biology takes its course. “He's perfect,” the Doctor proclaims, cradling James Daniel Oswald. Clara bobs her ruddy, sweaty head. “He's got your ears.”

“Let me see him,” Clara says excitedly, and the Doctor puts their newborn boy into her arms. “Oh, he is perfect.” She carefully does not think the H-word, because apparently having sex with a Time Lord tends to create a telepathic bond, which is usually rather nice. “I think he's got your eyes.”

“Yes, you do,” he tells the wee lad. “You've got a little bit of both of us.” He brushes a hand over the dark hair. “Look at you.” The baby gurgled. “Yeah, yeah, you're the center of our universe now; don't let it go to your head.”

“Center of the universe, huh?” Clara grins weakly. “Wonder where he gets that from?”

“Both sides, I expect.” He kisses her on the crown of her head. “We'll just have to give him a younger sibling.”

“Not just yet,” Clara laughs.


End file.
